If you have ever crossed me, chances are I have hissed, “You fargin bastage.”
Chances are, I hissed it quietly after the door closed, maybe even locked. I am a tiny man with frilly feathers for fists who avoids conflict like yellow squash (it’s horrible, don’t even try).
Thing is, I find myself uttering the phrase a lot – at slow computers, ill-fitting shirts, end zone aversions (I’m looking at you, UCF), slow-boiling eggs – anything that frustrates me, which, at age 56, is everything.
And if, for example, those eggs boil so slowly, someone offers me yellow squash, the response is clear: I bring a pointed finger to their nose and say, “My father served me yellow squash … (pause for exactly three seconds) … once.”
At this point, I would like to think you are recognizing these classic references, perhaps even adding, “Omnibus? I missed da bus. You missed da bus. When’s da next bus?”
The lines come from the 1984 gangster spoof “Johnny Dangerously” starring Michael Keaton as a lovable mob boss, Marilu Henner is his love interest, and Joe Piscopo as the thug who scowls from the coat rack, “You shouldn’t hang me on a hook, Johnny. My father hung me on a hook … (pause for exactly three seconds) … once.”
You may not recognize it because it is hard to find in this age of finding everything immediately. I found it on one streaming service, but when I hit play, the TV said, “Title not available,” resisting the urge to add, “Seriously? ‘Johnny Dangerously?’”
I finally found a DVD copy. When I popped it into the player, it refused to play any scene beyond 10 seconds. No joke.
Some background:
In 1986ish, six high school friends gathered almost every weekend to rent “Johnny Dangerously” on VHS.
We knew every line and every gag, and the stereotype-heavy jokes seeped into all corners of our lives. With thick, Italian mobster accents, we called each other bastages and iceholes often and in inappropriate places.
We found it endlessly hilarious, and it formed a strong, if not disturbing bond, among an already close group of band kids.
We’ve since scattered. They are certified adults with grown kids and jobs and pensions and chinch bugs. One retired as a band director after 35 years.
Recently, I did something that prompted a “fargin bastage” (mangled dialect, by the way, for insults not suitable for print). I then stopped and wondered if the old VHS crew also found themselves saying the same stupid lines 40 years later.
I found the friends quickly on Facebook, and, it turns out, “JD” haunts their vocabulary, too. The next step: a fargin reunion.
That’s why I searched for the movie our DVD player hated. After two days of cleaning the disc and nudging the player along scene by scene, I finally got to the end, then tossed it in an envelope for a five-stop adventure.
As of this writing, it is in Georgia, the last stop before heading back to Florida for its final viewing. Soon, we will gather on a Zoom call to discuss (1) how it held up, (2) how our spouses stomached it, and (3) why this silly spoof resonated with us so much.
That is what fascinates me. There has been a lot of pop culture saturating my beleaguered brain over the last 40 years, but this one clings like a thirsty tick. I don’t remember where I left the milk after unloading groceries today, but I can tell you exactly what Peter Boyle found in his hand after the bomb went off in the bathroom.
I expect the reunion to happen before the holidays. I’ll report on the reunion in these pages soon thereafter. I can’t wait.
This is about more than just “Johnny Dangerously,” of course. This is about friendships that are closing in on 45 years, about memories and band trips and wine coolers and laughter.
So. Much. Freakin’. Laughter.
These are good people. All of them. In short: Not an icehole in the bunch.
